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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23859274">Some Boys Just Wanna Watch The World Burn</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Formula 1 RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Coffee Shop, DANGEROUS LEVELS OF RED BULL, House Parties, Idiots in Love, Kinda, Laundromats, Lectures, Library Shenanigans, M/M, Red Bull, So be warned, TOO MUCH RED BULL, University AU, also quick disclaimer i think im funny and im not, chaos squad flatmates, five + one, idiots at uni, pining oh my god pining, the banana suit makes an appearance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:09:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,435</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23859274</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Lando sees his angel for the first time in the library at an unknown time at night after drinking a concerning amount of Red Bull while studying with the boys.</p><p>Lando would like you to know, it's all Alex's fault.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Charles Leclerc/Lando Norris</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>88</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>114</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>First time writing a multi chaptered fic and it's shit<br/>but!! it was fun to write and I spent a while on it so<br/>please read anyway?</p><p>a massive thank you to @simplyverstappen for helping out with university courses and stuff, that was really lovely and so helpful oh my god.</p><p>this is just like a prologuey bit i guess?<br/>this isn't like anything I've ever written before<br/>but yeah<br/>here we go</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter One</p><p>The Acquirement of the Red Bull</p><p> </p><p>It’s Alex who starts it this time. </p><p>Alex who triggers the chaos.</p><p>And really.</p><p>Lando flooded the apartment three days ago trying to make pasta.</p><p>Max brought the full wrath of the neighbours-to-the-left upon them by shouting too loudly while playing iRacing the day before yesterday, and now they’re subjected toconstant glares and below the breath mumbling.</p><p>Yesterday George accidentally broke the bathroom window and clogged the toilet in one swoop. He still insists the two events are not connected.</p><p>Nobody believes him.</p><p>So really.</p><p>Theoretically, it made perfect sense.</p><p>Of course it was Alex’s turn.</p><p>That’s just how the pattern went. </p><p> </p><p>But it was <em> Alex. </em></p><p> </p><p>Sweet, quiet Alex.</p><p>Responsible Alex.</p><p>The sensible one.</p><p>The voice of reason in the brainless babble.</p><p>But really.</p><p>In any other group.</p><p>From any other perspective.</p><p>Place him in a functioning group of adults, and he would be exposed for the sham he was.</p><p>Alexander Albon would never be called responsible, sensible, quiet.</p><p>But context is everything, and, well, in comparison…</p><p>One might be forgiven for this mistaken perception, this miscalculation of character.</p><p>Because usually, Alex could hide his lack of impulse control behind the more gaudily flashy show of restless chaos exploding from the others at any given moment.</p><p>Most of the time. </p><p>Sometimes.</p><p>But now and then, the facade would slip, and suddenly, <em> there, </em>you’d spot a trail of laundry soap rising ominously from the corner, you’d notice the pile of discarded nerf gun bullets in Alex’s room left over from the Great Nerf War <em> (who actually bought the bullets in the first place, </em>Lando would ask George, and Alex would slink back into the kitchen, quietly trying to make himself as unnoticeable as possible) and now and then, if you were really looking close enough, you’d see the glint in Alex’s eyes.</p><p>A glint that spoke of hare brained ideas and plans that <em>yes Max, would definitely go up in smoke but we’re doing it anyway.</em></p><p>A glint that if you weren't careful, would turn into a spark.</p><p>And with this amount unbridled energy and uninhibited enthusiasm, littered like petrol across four boys tasting freedom, that spark had a dangerous potential.</p><p>A potential that whispered of red flames and crackling wood, a burning pyre of roaring tongues and billowing sparks, sparks that flutter and cascade, igniting in a furious chain</p><p>of inferno and heat and <em> fire.  </em></p><p>Any plan that came from those sparking eyes inevitably ended up in smoke.</p><p> </p><p>Which is why, when Alex came bursting through the door of their four bedroom shared apartment, hauling an indecent amount of Red Bull in his arms, and announcing cheerily that <em>there’s more waiting downstairs…</em></p><p>Lando should’ve left him to his own devices and kept playing FIFA from his comfortable position sprawled over the beaten up couch in their living room.</p><p>(he was getting better okay guys, he almost won that last one)</p><p>In his defence, there’s only so many times he can convince himself that he’ll win the next one. And he was getting kinda bored anyway.</p><p> </p><p>That’s always been his downfall, he supposes.</p><p>Getting <em> bored. </em></p><p>It’s almost as reliable a spark as the crazy light in Alex’s eyes.</p><p>Oh well.</p><p>At least he knows whatever happens next will be entertaining. It’s always fun to watch a fire burn. Something soothing in the endless consuming blaze. Something cathartic in destruction.</p><p>Besides.</p><p>He wants to know why exactly Alex appears to have bought out the entirety of Red Bull. </p><p>Or at least the entirety of their local Tesco’s stock of Red Bull.</p><p>Because really Alex, that amount of Red Bull is <em> obscene. </em></p><p>Boxes and boxes of the stuff lie crammed into the boot of Alex’s shitty Fiat 500, fondly named Herbie, who refuses to start on any day that ends in a y, and needs some sort of arcane magic to actually make it to the Tesco’s six streets away.</p><p>Alex must’ve summoned some sort of demon to coax it back laden with an unquantifiable amount of large boxes of Red Bull.</p><p>Piled into the back seats, stuffed into the boot, crammed into the front passenger seat. Hanging haphazardly, shunted around by the car’s rattling movements and coughing</p><p>grumbles.</p><p> </p><p>Lando surveys the sitting room. It’s been transformed.</p><p>It had taken the better part of the afternoon, even with the arrival of George halfway thrrough to speed up proceedings.</p><p>Box after box after box, lugged up three flights of stairs and through their poky front door,</p><p>dumped unceremoniously on the nearest available surface.</p><p>After each trip, that available surface became smaller.</p><p>And smaller.</p><p>Until.</p><p>Well.</p><p>All available surfaces have been covered. From the french windows at the end of the room, all the way past the xbox and tv, up onto the sofa (which looks even more defeated than usual - Lando wonders if they’ve finally broken it) past the lampshade, posted up to all four walls, blocking the toilet door, and papered along to the front door. </p><p>The sheer magnitude is intimidating.</p><p>A minefield of red blue and silver cans.</p><p>Lando doesn’t think they’ll be able to make it to the bathroom any more. Not without losing a limb to the hungry sea of cartoon bulls.</p><p>It’s not like they’d want to, after what George has done to it.</p><p>They’ll probably have to bother the neighbours again, ask for the use of their bathroom. Or, well, there’s the toilet at his lecture hall, and in the cafe where he worked. He</p><p>could probably hold it. Yeah, he could hold it.</p><p>(knows there’s at least two car journeys and a memorable camping trip from when he was nine proving him wrong, but really, how hard could it be?)</p><p>Besides, if he does piss himself, he’ll just make Alex clean it up. Punishment for buying an ungodly amount of Red Bull and subsequently sealing off the bathroom.</p><p> </p><p>“<em> What the FUCK?!” </em></p><p>Huh. Max is back.</p><p>Beside him, Alex and George jump. </p><p>Seems all of them had been so caught up in the hypnotic beauty of row after row after row of pure chemical energy, stuck in their own private musings of bathrooms and whatnot, that they hadn’t heard the door open behind them.</p><p>Immediately, George begins to snicker at Max’s face. </p><p>So does Lando. </p><p>He can’t help himself. Max looks so <em> gobsmacked. </em></p><p>Alex, meanwhile, is trying for an angelic face.</p><p>It doesn’t work.</p><p>The spark is still in his eyes.</p><p>Burning, bizarrely, stronger than ever.</p><p> </p><p>So that’s how it begins. </p><p>On a lazy afternoon, free of lectures and shifts at coffee shops, full of Red Bull.</p><p>Looking back, Lando can confidently say that <em> yes, </em>it was, in fact, all Alex’s fault.</p><p>Without a doubt.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The First Time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Second Chapter Oh My God<br/>this is very weird to me I've never written a multi chaptered fic<br/>please if you see any mistakes or things that look a bit weird, or continuation errors or anything<br/>let me know?<br/>anyway<br/>this is quite a short chapter but yeah<br/>hope you enjoy!<br/>(im so excited okay bye)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time Lando sees him, they’re in the library, and it’s past sundown. </p><p>Alex, George, Max and Lando have all procrastinated on their assignments.</p><p>So Alex decides,</p><p>(with that bright spark <em> gleaming) </em></p><p>that they should have a study session in the library. No pauses, no breaks, just powering on through until all essays, every last thousand words, have been completed.</p><p> </p><p>Alex suggests that they use the help of Red Bull.</p><p> </p><p>Lando doesn’t complain much.</p><p>He has a five thousand word essay due bright and early Friday morning.</p><p>It’s Thursday evening.</p><p>He doesn’t even know what the essay is meant to be <em> on. </em></p><p>He needs a divine intervention, and frankly, at this point he’s ready to convert to the temple of Red Bull.</p><p>Ready to worship that red, blue and silver can, mind, body and soul.</p><p>Ready to sacrifice himself at the altar of that sweet energy rush.</p><p>Ready to pour his sanity away and replace it with Red Bull.</p><p>Besides, they really need to start getting rid of some of the boxes.</p><p>It’s been two days, and Lando will begrudgingly admit the bathroom situation isn’t going too well.</p><p> </p><p>So they load up and head over. Stocked and ready.</p><p>Men on a mission.</p><p>A Red Bull fuelled, procrastination induced, desperation soaked study session.</p><p>They get some very odd looks as they stumble out of Herbie<b>, </b>clutching one box of Red Bull cans each, already laughing hysterically and a little bit frighteningly as they patrol into the library.</p><p>Once they’ve installed themselves in a corner far away enough that they won’t disturb anyone with frantic mumbling and twitchy fingers, George installs a strict <em> no talking </em>policy that is swiftly broken within the next minute and a half. </p><p>The first Red Bull is opened three minutes and forty seconds later.</p><p>Lando’s not sure of the time when he opens his third can. </p><p>Not sure if time exists any more. </p><p>Maybe elsewhere, out in fresh air and normal life.</p><p>But not under steady, never changing, never ceasing lights. Not in bitten off swear words in languages so garbled as to be unrecognisable, or in rapidly darkening shadows under bleary eyes. Not amidst the stacks and towers and walls of books, staring down on them in mild disapproval, shaking their heads at their half hearted, confounded academic efforts.</p><p> </p><p>Lando cracks open his fourth Red Bull.</p><p>He wonders how many Red Bulls he can drink before he just keels over and dies.</p><p><em>(it’s around five</em>, his brain suggests dizzily. <em>George</em> <em>googled</em> <em>it earlier.)</em></p><p><em> (Thank you, brain, </em> he thinks drowsily, and <em> oh god he’s talking to himself, is that bad, that’s bad, maybe it was four not five, is he dying? oh my god he’s dying and-) </em></p><p> </p><p>And of <em> course </em>-</p><p>That’s when he sees him. </p><p>Through hazy eyes, a Red Bull soaked brain, and an internal hyperventilation about death by Red Bull.</p><p>He’s wearing a thick white hoodie and a black bandana over messy hair and cute thick rimmed glasses and <em> oh my god - </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He is the cutest thing Lando has ever seen. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Across the table, Alex perks up and nudges around, elbows flying in a subtle urgency. George is passed out under the table, defeated after three Red Bulls and two all-nighters in a row, but Max removes his head from his hands. Looks up.</p><p>And immediately slinks down in his seat next to Alex, the two of them settling down to snicker and stare with gleeful eyes, like children eagerly awaiting the start of the latest disaster film. Eyes full of expectation and anticipation.</p><p>Eyes glowing with coal burnt embers, just ready to burst up into a laughing fire.</p><p>If Lando had noticed, he would’ve suggested they bring popcorn.</p><p>Sarcastically, of course, but the bastards probably would've taken him up on it.</p><p> </p><p>But for now, Lando is blissfully unaware of the drama enacted on the other side of the table. </p><p>He’s far too entranced by White Hoodie in the cosy looking sweatpants, who’s scanning the shelves, face screwed up in concentration and intent.</p><p>He shifts, and bites his lip, and <em> oh god </em> Lando is going to die, he <em> is </em>, but not from Red Bull or lack of sleep or slow suffocation by academic papers, but by how fucking adorable this stranger is.</p><p>Snickers arise from the other side of the table. Lando doesn’t hear them. He’s too lost in beautiful thick brown hair, hair that looks so perfect to run a sleepy hand through, hair that looks so <em> soft </em>tied up in that black bandana, and gorgeous eyes hidden behind adorable glasses and nibbled lips that twist and morph around his face and - </p><p>Wait.</p><p>Oh god.</p><p>
  <em> Is he talking to Lando? </em>
</p><p>Oh god. Oh <em> fuck, </em>he is.</p><p>Quick Lando you fucking moron, pretend you haven’t been staring at him for the last - </p><p>Oh god.</p><p>The last how long?</p><p>
  <em> Shit. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Fuck. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> SHIT </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Alex wriggles in shakingly silent hysterical laughter, and Max’s foot nudges George awake under the table.</p><p>Well.</p><p><em> Initially </em>it’s a nudge.</p><p>It might have devolved in the confusion of inconspicuous excitement and uncontrollable limbs into more of a kick.</p><p>Either way, George rouses from his studying stupor with an exhaled rumble.</p><p>Sets forth with a barrage of complaints mixed with a healthy amount of swear words, and is quickly hushed.</p><p>It’s too late. </p><p>White Hoodie and Lando both turn to the source of the noise, Lando with a start, White Hoodie with an amused quirk to his lips and a mirthful light in his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>And then a voice comes drifting over the labyrinthine stacks, and White Hoodie turns once more, but he’s turning in the wrong direction, turning away from Lando and Lando wants to cry. His angel, his angel in an oversized white hoodie, is leaving.</p><p>Leaving with a small backwards glance, and regret - is that regret? - tinged in his divine eyes.</p><p>White Hoodie leaves set to the symphony of Alex and Max’s bubbling snorts, of George’s confused grumbles, instead of the celestial chorus of harps and flutes and cherubim and seraphim that he deserves.</p><p>He leaves<em> , </em> before Lando can say something, <em> anything, </em>to redeem himself.</p><p>Lando wants to <em> cry. </em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>:)</p><p>tumblr is onehonoramongstthieves</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Eight AM Class</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>number 3<br/>so<br/>yay me<br/>hope you enjoy</p><p>(comments and kudos are the joy of my life)</p><p>see you in the end notes x</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s been a week. </p><p>A week since the love of Lando’s life, the angel with the black bandana halo, walked into the timeless sphere of the 24/7 library and subsequently walked out again.</p><p>A week, and Max and Alex will not shut up about him.</p><p>George, bless him, is more quiet on the matter.</p><p>Only because he was so out of it he wouldn’t have noticed if they’d slathered him entirely in George's own mini moisturiser (for emergencies) and the soap from the library bathrooms.</p><p><em> A wasted opportunity, </em> Lando thinks regretfully, and throws the idea onto a small blaze at the back of his brain. </p><p>Still. </p><p>Lando will take what he can.</p><p>He needs some respite from the horrors Alex and Max keep throwing at him.</p><p>The firebombs of stinging embarrassment and shamefully life ending memories, burning on impact.</p><p>Yesterday they decided to inform him that apparently he had been drooling, and had sticky, matted hair from when he’d rested his face in a pool of Red Bull.</p><p>Considering that the day before, they’d told him he’d made an entire speech about his muscles (<em> lies, he hadn’t seen what his body was like through the cloud of white hoodie enveloping his angelic frame, Lando would’ve remembered if he had </em> ) and that he’d stared at him for around three hours ( <em> lies again, although he wishes he could’ve) </em>he’ll take what they say with a pinch of salt.</p><p>But when they tell him his eyes held the outline of cartoon hearts and he had sighed like a lovelorn war bride -</p><p>Those burns are a little harder to shake off. </p><p>Those had the sweetly singing scorch of truth.</p><p>And when Max tells him that <em>mate, I don’t believe in love at first sight, but if I did, that would’ve been it,</em>with an odd sincerity in his voice, so different from the teasing tone that had been dancing on flames just moments before -</p><p>When Alex nods his head, a gentle smile on his face - </p><p>The springing flame hasn’t left their eyes. </p><p>But it’s lost its ringing merriment.</p><p>Instead it burns with the telling tongues of truth.</p><p>It’s a softer flame.</p><p>Clearer.</p><p>Purer.</p><p> </p><p>But it’s been a <em> week, </em> and Lando hasn’t seen him <em> anywhere. </em></p><p> </p><p>Alex, and Max, once they’d stopped laughing, had promised to keep an eye out. George too, but considering he’d only seen White Hoodie, or as Max called him, Lando’s Future Husband, for approximately five to ten seconds (time was a weird thing), the general consensus was that he wouldn’t be much help.</p><p> </p><p>Any attempts on Lando’s part to describe him had only led to increased snickers and sly grins. Disbelief, on George’s part.</p><p>
  <em>No one is that pretty, Lando.</em>
</p><p>Lando almost had one less friend after that incident.</p><p>But after spluttering laughter, indignant eyes and declarations that they <em>were only winding him up, c’mon Lando, no more grumpy puppy eyes… </em></p><p>Lando decided to forgive him.</p><p>Although he wouldn’t try to describe his angel to them again.</p><p>That would just be liquid petrol.</p><p>Fuel, to the ever growing fire.</p><p>
  
</p><p>It’s been a week, and nobody has seen him.</p><p>
  
</p><p>It’s been a week, and despite all round belief, Lando actually does go to his lectures, thank you very much.</p><p>
  
</p><p>Even the eight AM ones.</p><p>
  
</p><p>God save his broken soul.</p><p>
  
</p><p>He wakes up at 7:30 to the satanic chorus of birds chirping. </p><p>Whatever possessed him to set it to birdsong <em> (it’s more natural, Lando, it’s good for you, look, I found this article online…) </em>was not human, and certainly not benign. </p><p>But anything to keep his mum happy, and Lando doesn’t know how to change the setting.</p><p>So birdsong it is.</p><p>He gives himself five minutes to enjoy the warmth of his bed.</p><p>Wakes up again ten minutes later, has a mild heart attack looking at the clock, and thumps his way to the kitchen, making sure to be as loud as possible.</p><p>If the other bastards woke up, so be it. It was their fault Lando had stayed up last night anyway.</p><p>He should’ve known, the second he saw the fiery glimmer as Max held out the controller, and George announced <em>it’s FIFA tournament time bitches -</em></p><p>But Lando is a fool, and a sucker for the crackle of heat and flames, and he is <em> late. </em></p><p>
  
</p><p>There’s no time to make himself a coffee, which is a shame, because Lando’s gotten really good at making those swirly latte things. One of the perks of his job at Vettel’s Coffee Shop.</p><p>Instead he grabs a box of Red Bulls.</p><p>The situation in the living room has died down a little, but the mountains of stacked up crates still loom intimidatingly. There’s still plenty to choose from. </p><p>He grabs his Red Bulls, and he <em> runs, </em>down the stairs and out the door.</p><p>
  
</p><p>He makes it just in time.</p><p>
  
</p><p>Stays awake at the wheel of Herbie by necking his first can of the day.</p><p> </p><p>Gets to his lecture hall with five minutes to spare.</p><p>Collapses into a seat near the middle by the edge, in a crumple of legs and hoodie and <em> it’s too early for this shit. </em></p><p>But it’s his graphic design class, one of his only classes that he actually likes<em> , </em> so he unfurls, releasing noises he would never admit to later on, and reaches blindly for another Red Bull.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p>Lando may need to reevaluate his class rankings. Graphic design no longer holds the position of “favourite class”. Graphic design doesn’t deserve to even be mentioned on the list. Lando sits head buried in the cocoon of his own arms, slumped forward, nestled into the lulling warmth of his hoodie. He doesn’t hear Professor Bottas dismissing everyone, but he does hear the unmistakable rush of papers and backpacks rustling, and knows the lecture must be over. </p><p>Thank God.</p><p> Lando should probably start moving too, but he might as well wait until the initial surge has subsided, and really, he is far too comfortable cradled head down on his desk  as he is. His elbows reach out like the spreading of wings, head still down, a stretch to hopefully awaken his snoozing limbs. All it achieves is a tinny sort of clatter, and Lando swears under his breath as he realises he’s probably knocked over one of his empty cans. Before he can bring himself to move, a gently humming laugh curls over Lando’s head. A light finger cautiously pokes his back.</p><p>Lando looks up.</p><p>And promptly sits bolt upright.</p><p>It’s <em> him. </em></p><p>Wearing a different hoodie, and missing both bandana and glasses, but definitely <em> him. </em></p><p>“I think you dropped this,” he says, and sweet baby jesus he has an accent, holy <em> fuck </em> he has an accent, and it is <em> hot.  </em></p><p>He holds out the dented can, and Lando’s face burns, burns into bright red and licking flames as he takes the can, and flicks his head in a sort of nod, because <em> yes, George, that was all he could manage at that moment alright? </em></p><p>And then he smiles, and moves away, and Lando wants to die again, except -</p><p>Except Angel was in his class.</p><p>Angel was in his <em> class, </em>and that means -</p><p>That means Lando is going to see him again.</p><p>Holy <em> shit. </em></p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>next time there will be more Charles I pinky promise</p><p>tumblr is onehonoramongstthieves</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The House Party</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>soo<br/>double upload huh<br/>for @hedgehogfrog because why not <br/>but also just because I want to so<br/>kinda looking for any excuse<br/>yay me I guess<br/>anyway<br/>hope you enjoy<br/>see you in the end notes x</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Music thumps through the house, beating like a heart, flushed warm in the packed heat of the house. Loud chatter and high laughs mingle and merge in the humid air, humming talk and the occasional shriek. The air is dense, sweating pure alcohol, and Lando lurches as someone crashes into his back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s loud, it’s busy, and Lando loves it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This is what uni is about.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s about jostling movement and blurring voices. About blasting music and swinging feet. About house parties in places you’ve never been to hosted by people you have a vague connection to at best. About spotting friendly faces in strangers and knowing the world has combined to this moment. About the feeling of freedom, wild, reckless freedom to do all the wild, reckless things you were warned about. About the freedom to burn the world down and laugh at the pretty flames.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it’s about alcohol.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So much alcohol.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lando thrives here, thrives in the thrumming triumph of chaos and ragingly happy inferno of drunken kindness. He’s been here five minutes, and already he’s had numerous smiles, several drinks, and one crumpled sock thrust in his direction. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s one thing he loves about drunken minds. The uninhibited chaos that comes unfiltered through. The irrational ideas so rational in the fuzzily burning embrace of alcohol.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He feels a pull on his elbow, and follows the nameless hand to the kitchen. George is behind, and sets down his crate of Red Bull on the table, swiftly followed by Max’s load. George had insisted that as British gentlemen, they shouldn’t turn up empty handed, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>it’s just rude Lando, always bring a gift for the host, always, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and Lando had agreed, he’d just thought it’d be a bit odd bringing five boxes of Red Bull. Max had just seen it as a way to finally get rid of the mountains of Red Bull clogging up the sitting room, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>mate, really, I’m sick of having to slice my arse on cans every time I want to sit down and have a game of FIFA. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alex had chimed in with  </span>
  <em>
    <span>besides, on our budget, what else are we going to bring? Water? At least we’ve got enough Red Bull to spare.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That really was an understatement. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’d ended up bringing eight boxes, and still had only just cleared the sofa and about a metre of floor space beyond that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At least they’d gotten a cheer as they walked through the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Apparently, drunk people love Red Bull.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lando is happily buzzed, swaying gently to and fro, and padding in the direction of the kitchen. </span>
  <em>
    <span>At least, he hopes so. That was where it was when he last came here. Unless it moved? Do kitchens usually move? Probably not, right, but then again walls don’t usually move either so. Really, at this point, it’s anyone’s guess.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lando shakes his head slightly. His hand reaches out for a door, and he looks inside. He’s mildly surprised to find the kitchen within, and gives himself a little cheer for a successful navigation. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Well done, Lando.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a little quieter in the kitchen, enough that he hears the surprised huff of laughter that meets him, hears the shyly smiling </span>
  <em>
    <span>well done, Lando </span>
  </em>
  <span>that echoes from his side. Lando squints, he focuses really hard, and he sees - </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sees his angel. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His angel, who is currently sporting the softest smile and bright eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em><span>His angel, who is wearing a shirt that leaves very little to the imagination, and </span><span>holy shit</span><span> Lando’s mouth goes dry. His angel, who is currently looking a very confusing mixture of seethingly sinful and mouthwateringly heavenly.</span> <span>Lando can’t decide what he likes more. It’s very disconcerting. And really fucking </span><span>hot.</span></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It takes a moment for Lando’s brain to kick into gear, but when it does, he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unfortunately, it turns out to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>Angel! </span>
  </em>
  <span>with a slightly slurred forward motion, and Lando hates himself, he really does.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He watches as angel’s eyes go wide and sparkling, and immediately reaches out for something, anything to blame his runaway mouth on, something to explain away the fact that he just called this man </span>
  <em>
    <span>Angel </span>
  </em>
  <span>to his face at a stranger’s house in the middle of a raging wildfire of a house party.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>When all else fails, just distract them with bullshit, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Alex’s voice rings in his mind, and Lando - like an </span>
  <em>
    <span>idiot - </span>
  </em>
  <span>blindly points to the first thing he sees and repeats: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Angel.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, the first thing he sees just happens to be the remainders of the Red Bull.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And now angel is looking at him like he’s lost his mind, and frankly, he quite possibly has. He looks confused, but bless him, angel continues like this conversation is normal, and he says, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yeah I don’t know who brought those, but they’re angels to me, </span>
  </em>
  <span>in that cute fucking accent, what is it, is it french or something? - and Lando, Lando opens his mouth to say something -</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And somebody else walks into the kitchen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Somebody else with curling spring hair, tattoos and an accent. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Australian, maybe? Fuck knows, Lando’s shit at accents.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And the Australian, if that’s what it is, the Australian is familiar with his angel. The Australian brings a laugh from from his angel’s lips, even as he turns reluctantly </span>
  <em>
    <span>(yet again) </span>
  </em>
  <span>from Lando, </span>
  <em>
    <span>(but he still keeps his body angled towards Lando, a small part of his brain notes meanly, he’s talking to me, Australian) </span>
  </em>
  <span>and it is pathetic how that small thought brings hope to Lando’s mind. And then the Australian leans over to reach for a cup off the table. Puts a hand on his angel’s waist to steady himself. An action that lingers, that’s so familiar, so </span>
  <em>
    <span>intimate, </span>
  </em>
  <span>that Lando’s hope immediately fails. Extinguished, in a sad puff, a wet sizzle of rainwater on hot coals. Snuffed out in one breath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course it’s now, now of all times, of every single time he’s wished his angel would find him and look his way- </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now, with a tall, hot Australian wrapped up by his side, an Australian that is very clearly either boyfriend or about to be-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Now </span>
  </em>
  <span>is when his angel appears in front of him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Only to be confirmed unavailable. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This hurts more than any other time his angel has left him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then George crashes into the kitchen to announce that Max is about to start a fist fight with some guy </span>
  <em>
    <span>I think I heard someone call him Esteban </span>
  </em>
  <span>and that Alex is throwing up into a flower bed </span>
  <em>
    <span>seriously mate it looks like Niagara Falls out there </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>you get one and I’ll get the other</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Lando has never been more grateful for the uncontrollable wildfire residing in his friends.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then George stops and goes </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh shit is this the angel you were on about? </span>
  </em>
  <span>and Lando takes back everything he just said, and might just commit a first degree murder tonight.</span>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lando lets himself be dragged out of the kitchen in a trail of destruction and glory, burning chunks of dignity and pride left in his wake. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There might be a couple of pieces of his heart left there too, but Lando would never admit to it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It would be stupid to lose his heart to a boy who he’d only met twice, and honestly, met is too generous of a word.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It would be stupid.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lando is stupid.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>phew that was fun :)</p>
<p>tumblr is onehonoramongstthieves</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Laundry is Done</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>me again<br/>don't really like the end of this one but yeet<br/>next chapter tomorrow again<br/>hope you enjoy<br/>see you in the end notes x</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lando shoves another batch of clothes into the shaking laundry machines, steam puffing off the pipes every few seconds. The dull whine is getting to him, vibrating in his ears, rattling his four AM brain. </p><p>Lando has never kept regular hours.</p><p>(except when forced to by eight AM classes)</p><p>(even then, he gets swayed by the siren call of <em> fuck it sleep can wait </em>)</p><p>(the sweet seduction of impulses and living in the <em> now </em>)</p><p>(consequences be damned)</p><p>Lando picks up another bundle. Shoves it in. The endless repetitive motion is comforting </p><p>amidst the whine.</p><p>There was a problem with living in the now, he supposes.</p><p>A problem in that the consequences always caught up. </p><p>For example, no matter how long you would like to delay the laundry -</p><p>There will always come a moment where there is nothing left in your wardrobe other than a pair of swimming trunks, a curled up mothball of odd socks, and Alex’s novelty Red Bull t shirt. Banished to the dark confines of the very back of Lando’s wardrobe  the minute Alex brought it home, but Alex didn’t need to know that. </p><p>Whatever Alex’s thing with Red Bull was, it wasn’t healthy.</p><p>Ma was no help, egging Alex on at every opportunity, with an addiction almost as bad as Alex’s. George was impartial at best, with a sly tendency of encouraging the others, so it was up to Lando to fight the good fight. It was a good hiding place - none of them would dare enter his wardrobe again after the Incident of the Missing Valentino Rossi Hat.</p><p>But Red Bull or not, at least it meant Lando had a clean shirt.</p><p> </p><p>So, donned in fluorescent yellow swimming trunks and a Red Bull shirt two sizes too big (it was <em> Alex’s </em>shirt after all, the man is a fricking giant, and Lando is - slightly less so) Lando set out on a mission to the laundromat. At four AM, because Lando has no self control, and if he doesn’t do it now, he’ll probably have to turn up to one of his lectures like this.</p><p>Lando pushes another load into the machine. Sets the dial, and pushes some more coins into the slot. Daylight robbery, these fucking machines are, but Lando needs clean clothes, and these machines know it. Bastards.</p><p>The machine wakes up and slowly begins to scream its grinding turns. Through the noise, Lando hears the door to the laundromat thud open. </p><p>Two machines down, the hatch is pulled open, and clothes shoveled in. And Lando sees, in the tumble of wrinkled clothes and falling socks, Lando sees a white hoodie, and several objects that look like bandanas.</p><p>Lando looks at the man. </p><p>Takes a deep breath. </p><p>Screws up his courage and calls out,</p><p>
  <em>"You know, you uh, you probably shouldn’t mix whites with colours.""</em>
</p><p>Angel turns and looks at him.</p><p>Recognition lights up his face. </p><p>He looks back down at the clothes and laughs a little self deprecatingly. </p><p>
  <em>"Yeah? I’m not usually the one who does the laundry, I don’t really know what I’m doing."</em>
</p><p>Lando smiles, smiles without realising, soft and genuine, an instinctive reaction to this sheepish angel looking at him with a friendly light in his eyes.</p><p>
  <em>"Yeah, uh, I don’t even know what it actually does, but my mum, she uh, she always told me not to do it, so, uh,"</em>
</p><p>Lando trails off as the angel bends over to fish out and rescue the white hoodie from within the machine.</p><p>He straightens up with a smile, holding out the hoodie proudly, and says, "<em>we better not disappoint your mum then,""  </em>with an oddly shy quirk of his lips.</p><p>Lando huffs out a surprised smile of a laugh, and quickly ducks his head back to his washing.</p><p>Unfortunately for his plan of pretending to be busy, all his laundry has been loaded, and the machine is already wheezing its way through the cycle. There’s nothing for him to do but wait. </p><p>
  <em>"So, I, I didn’t get your name the other day"</em>
</p><p>He looks hopeful.</p><p>Lando swallows. </p><p><em>"It’s uh, it’s Lando," </em>he gets out, and before he can stop himself, "<em>what’s your name?"</em></p><p><em>"Charles," </em>he replies, and Lando nods weakly in return.</p><p>Angel’s - <em> Charles’ </em> -  smile falters for the briefest flicker of a second, and in that brief moment, he looks unsure of himself.</p><p>Lando curses himself, curses himself a thousand times over, because Angel - <em> Charles - </em> should never have to look like that, not even for the briefest of seconds.</p><p> </p><p>And then Lando forgets all of that, forgets his self consciousness and awkwardness, and begins to laugh, because -</p><p>
  <em>"Is that a banana suit?"</em>
</p><p>And Charles looks at his laundry in startled remembrance, and blushes a deep fiery red, and Lando can’t help himself, he starts to laugh.</p><p>A pure, high pitched giggle that screeches against rough edges in genuine glee.</p><p>And Charles begins to laugh too.</p><p>Cheeks aching, wide smiles desperately trying to stifle choked laughter, they look at each other, and that’s all it takes for the laughter to burst forth unbridled, uncontrolled, free. The kind of wracking laughter that screams unfettered joy.</p><p>The kind of laughter that builds bonds that aren’t easily broken.</p><p>Finally, finally, once the giggles have subsided, they fall into talking. </p><p>And it’s <em> easy. </em></p><p>The easy sort of chatter of people who have known each other a long time, mixed deliciously with the exploring talk of new friends. Lando finds out he’s actually in art and fashion, despite the monstrosity of yellow laying before him, and that the banana suit was to be blamed on a friend, and a whole host of other disjointed information. There is no small talk of families and daily lives,  only four AM stories jumbled with strange facts and odd snippets that Lando is sure  he would never have heard out of the confines of blurring laundromat walls and the cage of early morning madness.Their talk is tinged with the crests of commiserations of fucked up sleep schedules, topped with teasing lilts and comfortable push and pull, swirled with knowledge like Charles has an obsession with bandanas and Lando has a roommate with an exorbitant amount of Red Bull stored in his flat. </p><p>They don’t really talk about personal details, like last names and connections to the outside world. Instead, they deal with first pet names, and Lando’s passion for Valentino Rossi, and their shared love for iRacing and driving games, and fragmented patches from the mysteries of their lives, and somehow, this is more intimate than general conversation could ever be.</p><p>They talk, in smiles and trusting eyes and open laughter, and it is <em> easy. </em></p><p>Until.</p><p>Until Charles’ phone rings.</p><p>And he looks at the caller id, and he says, he says, "<em>oh, this is just Dan, I think you actually met him at the Pierre’s party the other day, I’ll just be one moment," </em>and he says it in a nonchalant air, in a tone that suggests Lando’ s heart hasn’t just temporarily frozen, because <em> of course. </em></p><p>
  <em> Don’t you remember Lando? The tall, hot, tanned Australian with tattoos and a gorgeous smile. The one who slid his hand around Charles’ waist while steadying himself. The one who Charles gave a gorgeous grin in return, matching in their beauty and happiness and perfection. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Charles’ boyfriend.  </em>
</p><p>Lando watches as his angel picks up the phone, and turns around, quickly grabbing his finished laundry. He gestures to Charles, and quickly turns to make his escape.</p><p>He misses the way Charles’ eyes fill with confusion,  misses the way Charles tries to stop him with a little step forward as he goes.</p><p>Lando flees the laundromat.</p><p>He misses his angel with every step that takes him away.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>:/<br/>tumblr is onehonoramongstthieves</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Library, But This Time With No Audience</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>THINGS ARE SORTED OUT<br/>fucking finally, I know<br/>a thank you to soulhead for the dialogue note! <br/>hope you enjoy<br/>see you in the end notes x</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When Lando recounts the story of the laundromat to his concerned flatmates, he’s met with mixed reactions, in several different stages.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Firstly, there’s the veritable explosion of voices that assault him with blistering speed. Once this melee has damped to a manageable roar, Lando is able to pick out various different proclamations, most of which boil down to </span>
  <em>
    <span>that bastard </span>
  </em>
  <span>or </span>
  <em>
    <span>why the fuck did you run away </span>
  </em>
  <span>or even just the succinct </span>
  <em>
    <span>what the fuck. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This eventually simmers down into a hotter, yet more controlled focus. Their little sitting room is turned into a war council as they settle down to determine </span>
  <em>
    <span>what the fuck was actually going on.</span>
  </em>
  <span>The finer points of the meeting are broken down, discussed, analysed, until finally, a thought occurs to Max.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Lando, did he ever tell you outright that this “Dan” guy is his boyfriend?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lando opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again to say,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Well not outright, no, but - “</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And is immediately cut off by a cacophony of groans, muffled thumps of head hitting sofa cushions, and sweltering swears. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Lando,</span>
  </em>
  <span> comes a trio of exasperated voices, and well </span>
  <em>
    <span>okay, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but Lando has </span>
  <em>
    <span>eyes you guys, they were all over each other, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and now, Max, Max sits up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Alright then,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he says, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>describe.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So Lando pours forth, tells the whole sorry details, from the party onwards, and is interrupted every five seconds. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“He was still pointed towards you, right? People’s feet always face what they’re most interested in.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Where exactly was his hand?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“The waist? Where on the waist?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Lando you muppet that’s the back, that’s the most platonic place to put his hand,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>and Lando disagrees, the most platonic place wouldn’t be on Charles </span>
  <em>
    <span>at all, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and yeah okay, maybe he overhyped this all, but “</span>
  <em>
    <span>he called him at four AM, that’s weird right, Charles didn’t seem bothered, boyfriends would call at four AM” </span>
  </em>
  <span>and George is on his side, George, the only other person to have actually seen the interaction in the kitchen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>George believes Charles has a boyfriend, Alex believes that Charles may have a boyfriend, and Max believes that Charles might have a boyfriend, but is more interested in Lando. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The three schools of thought clash and rage in a shower of sparks, in loud voices that undercut and overcut and make contact in a racing whirl of opinions and thought. It culminates in Max rummaging through his drawers to fetch his psychology textbook and vehemently pointing out the section on body language. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the face of this irrefutable evidence, and Max’s acknowledged expertise as a psych student, it is agreed that maybe, Charles might be into Lando. Peace reaches the sitting room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Lando reminds everyone that of the three times he has encountered Charles, one time he was drunk, another under a lethal amount of Red Bull, and the other took place at four in the morning. Details like hand placement and foot direction might be a little hazy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>None of his evidence could really be counted as reliable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This does not go down well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A fresh wave of debate is ignited, and Lando -</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lando has a shift at the coffee shop tomorrow afternoon, and a paper due the morning after. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he’s tired of a) being told he’s an idiot for not reading the signs correctly and realising Charles has a boyfriend or b) being told he’s an idiot for not reading the signs correctly and realising Charles is interested in him. He’s especially tired of being told both at the same time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So he interrupts the arguing. Grabs his books and tells them he’s off to the library. Sneaks a couple Red Bulls as well, from the diminished but not vanquished stack relegated now only to one half of the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After all, it’s not studying without Red Bull, and, well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lando plans on being gone for a while.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Needs to clear his head, find a place to think.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Can’t do that while his roommates are yelling about how Charles telling Lando his first dog’s name is a subconscious </span>
  <span>Pavlovian sign that he wants to get a dog with Lando or if Charles just really likes dogs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He heads to the library.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a while, Lando actually manages to get a decent amount of work done. The library is the sort of place that, if you let it, thrums in a sort of quiet pride at the activities achieved in it. Here, the only fire is a candlelit flicker. A flicker that hums the songs of a thousand thousand past papers written here, essays and dissertations, design briefs and assignments, of books read, for study and for pleasure. If one lets it, the steady hum can push a hand along, lifting, encouraging. Armed with Red Bull and a packet of biscuits he’d swiped from the kitchen, Lando completes his linguistics paper due for the day after tomorrow, finds the books from his required reading list, and makes a start on the design project assigned last lecture. He’s making inroads on the developmental stage when a soft voice wakens him from his peacefully productive trance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a second, he thinks it’s Checo, the librarian, coming to give him shit for eating in the library.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And yeah okay, Lando knows no food is allowed in the library, but Checo’s turned a blind eye to the mountain of Red Bull carted in here before, surely he can forgive a couple of crumbs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it’s not Checo.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There, over the screen of his laptop, is Charles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Because of course.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s always Charles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Lando, Lando is covered in remnants of biscuit, his oldest and thickest hoodie on, and shoes off. He works better when he can wiggle his toes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In other words, Lando is caught off guard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But when it comes to Charles, he always is.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><span>Charles slides himself down with a thump at the other end of the table. He doesn’t speak a word, but his eyes say </span><em><span>can I sit here?</span></em> <em><span>Is this okay?</span></em></p>
<p>
  <span>Lando just nods. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slides Charles some of his HobNobs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Watches as Charles brings out a black covered sketchbook thicker than all three books Lando hefted over to his table, and that is saying something. Design books are fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>thick. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Charles begins sketching, occasionally looking into a textbook to his side for reference.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cautiously, Lando begins typing again, and for a while, they exist.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Simply exist.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Exist in a place with no time, filled with the song of a thousand thousand lives. Both are absorbed in creation, working without words, in silence but together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Side by side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They exist.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Charles begins to hum.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It is haunting. Familiar, in a way that Lando knows he should recognise it, but just unknown enough to catch his attention, an itch in a place he knows he should be able to scratch, but can’t.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It sounds like Charles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It sounds beautiful.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What song is that?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It escapes before he can stop it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Charles looks up, slightly startled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh, um Clair de Lune,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he says, and blushes, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I didn’t know I was humming out loud, I can stop, sorry.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“No,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>and again, it’s gone before he can stop it,</span>
  <em>
    <span> “I like it,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>and sometimes Lando hates his lack of filter, but not tonight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tonight the happiness on Charles’ face is enough to alleviate any anxiety about his runaway mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I can play it for you if you’d like,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>and he brings out his phone, and suddenly piano music tumbles out into the quiet of the library.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lando closes his eyes, tilts his head back and smiles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks at Charles with twinkles in his eyes, and says, “ </span>
  <em>
    <span>it’s beautiful.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charles regards him with an indecipherable look.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Why did you leave like that the other night,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>and he doesn’t say it bluntly, not quite, but he doesn’t beat around the bush either.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lando has two options here. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could pretend he doesn’t know what Charles is talking about.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But that would be unfair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Both to Charles and to himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the second option, of brutal, unfettered honesty, scares the shit out of Lando.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He goes with the middle ground.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I didn’t want to disturb you and your boyfriend,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>and he’s not quite brave enough to look at Charles as he says it. Instead, he studies his laptop.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And when Charles says </span>
  <em>
    <span>boyfriend? </span>
  </em>
  <span>in an adorably confused tone of voice, Lando doesn’t allow himself to hope. He just says “</span>
  <em>
    <span>yeah, you know on the phone,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>and still refuses to look up at Charles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He does look up two seconds later when Charles goes “</span>
  <em>
    <span>who, Dan? Oh, no, Dan and I are just flatmates, he was calling to ask if I could buy some milk since I was already out.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he manages, and Lando has never felt more stupid in his life. Including the time he smashed a window with a nerf gun and a hangover.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>returns Charles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They subside in silence once again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a good silence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a silence that contains - relief.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Lando doesn’t know if it is just wishful thinking, but it doesn’t feel like he’s the only one who is relieved.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The music comes to a close.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lando lets out a sigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then the music restarts, and Charles is holding out his hand. He holds out his hand, and says “</span>
  <em>
    <span>dance with me,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>like dancing in the library at strange times at night in socks and  crumbs and ominously bubbling puddles of Red Bull is the most natural thing in the world.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He holds out his hand, with a hopeful light in his eyes, and how can Lando refuse this?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How can Lando refuse this unabashedly warm request, so solemnly earnest, in a place where time is liquid and dreams seem to be real?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lando takes his hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lando makes his own dreams come true.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The music plays, and they dance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They dance in an odd shuffle that should be awkward, but isn’t. They dance in a sway that is everything and nothing, and anything in between.They dance like they’re learning each other, in every shift and fall, in the cadence of the music and the rhythm of their bodies. They dance like they exist. Like they exist </span>
  <em>
    <span>together.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>They dance, and time is suspended.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then the song ends, and they stand together, under dim library lights, holding each other still in a dancing embrace.They stand, in breathing distance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(in kissing distance)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(so close)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then Lando’s phone rings, and the distance becomes miles, and the spell is broken.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I have to go “</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lando says, </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>and he’s gone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I think there's one more chapter to go and then an epilogue maybe and then that will be us done!<br/>that's very weird to say</p>
<p>Clair de Lune is magical but can you really hum piano music? probably not but Charles does it anyway</p>
<p>tumblr is onehonoramongstthieves</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Yes That's Right, It's Coffee Time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>THIS IS IT <br/>THE FINAL CHAPTER<br/>the coffee machine names are the actual names of Seb's last couple of f1 cars <br/>because I wanted to.<br/>hope you enjoy and that this doesn't disappoint!<br/>see you in the end notes x</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Lando loves the coffee shop. It’s bright and bubbly, a cheerful corner in a busy street that provides a safe haven to passer bys. A welcoming place, filled with hotly aromatic smells and frondy plants waving through large windows. Busy, bustling, yet also filled with a quiet charm that some places, no matter how busy or pretty or famous could ever achieve, no matter how much money is thrown at it. It is quaint and it is modern, it is </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and it seems to breathe in a mild state of ever present happiness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s the kind of place two people could meet and fall in love. The perfect backdrop to countless stories that Lando may never see the end to. May never even know he was part of. Some people get weird about not being the main character every minute of their lives, but Lando likes knowing that he could be part of the backstory to a great romance. He likes the quiet drama.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The knowledge that everything he does could have a knock on effect, whether he actually gets to see the consequences or not.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lando loves the coffee shop, and he loves Seb, the owner, who always seems to have about fifty harebrained schemes on the go, ten of which might seem feasible to a rational mind, five of which might work with a little luck, several more that would only work with Seb’s combination of lucky charm and brilliance, and some that flat out could never work.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Today, Seb seems to be planning on rewiring all three coffee machines simultaneously, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>I know I can stop Gina from leaking and Loria will stop steaming so much if I just tweak her wiring a little, and Lina, Lina will work like a dream -</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Luckily Nick, the new hire, manages to talk him down from dismantling their only three machines at once. As a business student, Lando supposes negotiating is a good skill to have. Who knows, maybe Nick might actually stick around. Antonio, the other longtime server at the shop, only snorts. Not everyone is suited to Seb’s habits. Usually, people either roll with it, or run at the first chance they get.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Antonio thinks Nick will be a runner.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lando is not so sure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’re debating this in the breakroom stuffed at the very back of the shop when Seb pokes his head through. Apparently a new coffee machine has arrived. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“The SF1000,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Seb says, a dreamy look in his eyes, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I think I’ll call her Lucilla.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lando touches her gleaming surface reverently. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Lucilla,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he says solemnly,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>and </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Lucilla,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>intones Antonio.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nick looks on in an enthralled fascination. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lando can’t wait until he sees the christening process.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It happens with every new machine the shop gets and it is an </span>
  <em>
    <span>experience. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So much so that some long-time regulars have heard of its notoriety. Some even try to schedule their days when they hear a new machine is arriving to be able to take part in the ritual.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lando thinks Seb could start a cult if he really wanted to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There will be no christening today. Installation never takes place one the same day as the name choosing, and the christening can only take place once the machine has been safely installed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lando can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>wait.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But for now, Antonio’s on Gina duty, because apparently he’s the only one other than Seb who can work her with minimal leakage, Nick’s serving in the baked goods area, which means Lando is on till.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lando doesn’t mind actually. He's good with people. He likes talking with them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He summons up his sunniest smile and offers it to the next customer. The afternoon passes, in a haze of hot drinks and customer service. He sees a couple of the regulars, informs Kimi of Lucilla’s arrival, waves to Checo with his usual black coffee, keeps a conspiratorial quiet as Antonio adds a little extra cream for Jenson as usual.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he sees a new customer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Charles.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>And immediately Lando’s brain is in turmoil. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Did he know Lando works here? Did he come for him? Or was it just coincidence? (please god not coincidence) holy shit what does he say to him? Does he mention the library? Should he pretend nothing happened?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s an exclamation behind him, and he sees Nick light up at the sight of Charles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Okay then.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lando tries to ignore his disappointment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Professional Lando, come on.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But then Charles sees him, and Charles is the one to light up this time. But he does more than that, he almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>glows </span>
  </em>
  <span>at the sight of Lando, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>okay that’s professional out the window.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lando beams back. He can’t help himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nick is not a stupid man. He takes one look at his flatmate and his coworker, and connects the dots. Lando dimly registers Nick fleeing the scene, muttering something about taking a quick break, and pulling a protesting Antonio behind him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Luckily the cafe’s hit a lull in the afternoon rush.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otherwise Lando would fear for Nick’s life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Antonio loves this cafe with a fierce passion that comes born in his Italian blood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But none of that matters now, because Charles is looking at </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hi,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>and Lando grins stupidly, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>hi.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Behind the door to the break room, Nick shushes Antonio furiously while simultaneously sending rapid fire texts off to Dan and Pierre.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lando’s customer training kicks in and he says “</span>
  <em>
    <span>so uh, what can I get for you today?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charles smirks. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I would order a coffee, but I’m scared you might spike it with Red Bull.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lando splutters, and Charles’ resulting laugh might just be the sweetest sound Lando's ever heard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I told you, that’s Alex’s fault not mine,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>but Charles is still laughing, and Lando just can’t stop himself around Charles. Reluctantly, a corner of his mouth pulls up, and Charles’ infectious laughter gets a hold on him too.</span>
</p>
<p><em><span>“Go on then banana boy, what kind of coffee,” </span></em><span>Lando asks,</span> <span>and Charles tilts his head quizzically. </span></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Banana boy? I thought your nickname for me was angel?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And Lando’s cheeks spontaneously combust.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Red hot, white hot, supernova heat flushes over his face.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Where did you hear that?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he gets out, staring fixedly at the number 4 button on the till.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Charles doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes a breath, and -</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he says -</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’ve changed my mind. I want two coffees. One macchiato, with an extra shot of espresso, and the other one however you’d like it. And then maybe you could join me to drink it? Maybe not now, since you’re working, but - whenever you’d like.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He says this, a light dusting of pink over his cheeks, an odd combination of determination and nervous hesitance in his eyes. It’s a heady mix.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lando thinks he might faint.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Behind the door, Nick and Antonio clutch each other in pent up excitement. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lando stands there, surrounded by the coffee shop backdrop to a thousand romances, and adds one more romance to the list.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’d love that,'' he</span>
  </em>
  <span> says, and smiles in a ray of light at his angel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>A gentle tendril of flicking flame surrounds the two, linking them together in a steady burn.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly it flashes, a bright pulse of mischievous energy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lando grins wickedly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“If this is an attempt to make me forget about your weird banana suit then it failed,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>and they laugh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bright and brilliant.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Together.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>WOW<br/>that do be it huh<br/>maybe an epilogue to come<br/>but <br/>for the main part it's actually done <br/>:0</p>
<p>Thank you thank you and thank you again to everyone who read and enjoyed, to everyone who left comments and kudos.<br/>You made me smile so much :)<br/>hopefully I'll see you guys again soon</p>
<p>but for now, that's me over and out x</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Some First Meetings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>couple of snapshots of first meetings</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hi everyone guess who's back!<br/>me duh <br/>and i guess you too huh?<br/>SO <br/>this is the epilogue yay<br/>idk if you'll like it or if it fits <br/>also i kinda repeat myself in the beginning and just yeah idk<br/>but anyway for better or for worse here it is<br/>hope you enjoy!<br/>see you in the end notes x</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Lando meets Charles’ flatmates after their third official date.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He meets them after an evening in a hole in the wall restaurant, quickly abandoned after they realise that it was the kind of place to insist on serving certain wines with certain meals. After a laughing escape into the open air, and a walk through the park and under the trees. After sitting on the grass by the river, framed by a gently weeping willow, lit by the echoing fades of sunset. After a bottle of hastily procured red wine has been drunk, under barely dawning stars, on softly cushy grass.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As the evening grows older, they gravitate closer to one another. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At first, there is a distance across the table from one another in stuffy air and stiff surroundings. After the escape, the distance is reduced as they fall side by side on concrete pavement, laughing and jostling one another as they breathe in fresh, unconstrained air. As they duck into a brightly spilling Tesco, clutching hands, lovestruck looks aimed while the other isn’t watching, picking at random a Tesco finest wine</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(the cheaper the better, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Lando says with relish, and Charles laughs in remembrance of updrawn faces and carefully curated wine lists)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They slip out the other side, into green parks, and arrive at the river, now sat flushed up close to one another. Soft grass beneath them, sighing leaves above them, and the quiet rush of the river intertwined with their bubbling voices. It’s a lullaby of an evening, a song written in the music of angels, to a tune too ethereal for humans to hear, but enough to see written across the sky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s perfect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lando’s head drops to Charles’ shoulder as they look up to illuminated clouds in shades of pink and orange and blue, and Charles’ arm creeps around his waist. In the quiet, they sit, and they talk, side by side, arms around each other. All distance is gone. It’s innocent, for a while.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Until it isn’t.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Until Lando slips onto Charles’ lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Until Charles parts his legs, and nibbles on the underside of Lando’s neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Until Lando lets out noises that he would be embarrassed to make if it didn’t feel this good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(If it wasn’t Charles)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Until they stumble back up the bank, mouths gasping</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(“</span>
  <em>
    <span>your place or mine,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Charles murmurs against smooth skin)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hands roaming</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(“</span>
  <em>
    <span>yours</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Lando breathes, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>my flatmates are home,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>and no way is Lando bringing Charles home when Max George and Alex are lurking)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Skin meeting skin</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(“Nick and Dan are out,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Charles says, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>won’t be back for a while, we’ll have the place to ourselves-” )</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Charles is trailing kisses down Lando’s neck, and all of a sudden Lando just wants to get to Charles’ place already.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just wants </span>
  <em>
    <span>Charles </span>
  </em>
  <span>already.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Lando meets Charles’ flatmates after their third date, with Charles’ hand down his pants and his hand tangled in Charles’ hair. Lando meets Charles’ flatmates in blinding flashes of heated touches and fevered movements. Lando meets Charles’ flatmates wound tightly around Charles’ body as they finally crash through the door to his flat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His very much </span>
  <em>
    <span>not empty </span>
  </em>
  <span>flat.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently Dan and Nick had arrived back home early. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’ve brought Pierre with them as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the meaningful, smirking looks Nick keeps giving him, Lando’s going to be getting a lot of shit at work tomorrow. He can see his phone underneath the kitchen table, and Lando is aware that that means Antonio will know by now too. He just hopes they don't say anything loud enough for Seb to hear. Getting teased about his sex life by his coworkers is one thing, if his </span>
  <em>
    <span>boss </span>
  </em>
  <span>joins in…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lando may die.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At least Dan and Pierre seem to be taking well enough. Having a stranger burst into your home about to get off with your flatmate must be a little disconcerting, but Dan -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dan just keeps making a series of increasingly obvious innuendos. Each one accompanied with barely suppressed laughter and on occasion, several crude gestures. It’s hilarious, but also deely, deeply mortifying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lando suspects it would be funnier if it was happening to someone else.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even Pierre has to tamp down a smirk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A sly smirk, that pops out and betrays any notion of his sweet personality as he asks “</span>
  <em>
    <span>so, I take it the date went well then? All five hours in the bathroom paid off?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, Charles, his face a firetruck hue of red, red, and more red, bundles up his laughing housemates, and quite literally throws them out of the flat. Nick rolls out in a curl of deviously mischievous eyes and still texting fingers, Pierre exits choking out merry laughs at yet another of Dan’s jokes, Dan leaves with a sunny twinkle and a </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t forget to use condoms, kids!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the ensuing silence, Lando turns to Charles.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>I like your friends,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he says, and they both burst out laughing, fire still glowing on their cheeks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All in all, it’s a first meeting to remember.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first time their friend groups fully mesh, it’s for Nick’s birthday. Nick had already met and befriended Max, George and Alex several times from Lando bringing them into the shop, so really, it was only Pierre and Dan new to his flatmates.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, yeah. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it was also the first time George, Max and Alex had properly met Charles as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Lando doesn’t think about that, because if he does, Lando might really truly shit himself, and he’d really rather not make it about him and Charles, not on Nick’s birthday. That would be a kinda shitty move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except </span>
  <em>
    <span>what if they don’t like him </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lando they’re going to like him, it’s Charles, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but </span>
  <em>
    <span>what if they don’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>well whatever, it’s my relationship they don’t have to like him, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but </span>
  <em>
    <span>what if they don’t like him, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and  Lando knows he’s being ridiculous, knows everything will be fine, but he can’t stop himself from thinking. So he subsides in a state of nervous energy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He fizzes in a firecracker of jittery energy frittered uselessly on fidgety checks and busy fingers, until Max grabs him by the shoulders, looks him in the eyes, and tells him, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Lando mate, you’re not fooling anyone. We know how much you care about this, and I promise you, it will be fine.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>That eases the coils in Lando’s shoulders slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just slightly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then they’re knocking on the door, and Nick opens it with a smile and a six pack of beer waiting, and suddenly they’re through to the living room. Pierre and Charles are grouped around the sofa, and Lando’s breath hitches at the sight of his boyfriend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind him, Max’s breath hitches too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he’s not looking at Charles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s looking at Dan, who’s over by the window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dan, who is reaching up over his head and exposing a really quite tempting sliver of toned muscle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It may be a trick of light, but if Lando squints, he can see something that may just look a little like drool on Max’s cheek, and just like that -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last of Lando’s nerves dissipate with a bang.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because George and Alex are already laughing with Pierre, Charles and Nick, and Max -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the evening draws to an end, Lando is going to remind Max of every single teasing word he ever said about his mysterious angel, and Lando’s puppy eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Lando will ask “</span>
  <em>
    <span>so, how did you like Dan?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>with a sweetly saccharine smile, and he will </span>
  <em>
    <span>laugh </span>
  </em>
  <span>at the rushing blood in Max’s heated face.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, Lando is going to have fun with this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lando stands outside a door in a beautiful section of Monaco, his boyfriend’s hand in his, and summer sun on his skin. He takes a deep breath, and before he knows it, the doorbell chimes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Charles looks over at him, his smile a painter’s dream, love in his eyes. He looks like the classic beauty of ancient art captured in afternoon light, like he belongs in this glowing world of white streets and light breezes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The door opens, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh shit, here it is.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The door opens, and Mrs Leclerc throws her arms around her boy. French flits between the two in a swift musical stream, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>god his boyfriend sounds sexy when he speaks French.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He shakes that thought off quickly, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>inappropriate Lando, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and now Mrs Leclerc is turning to him, and holding her arms out, and suddenly Lando is enveloped by two strong brown arms and a warm embrace. She looks up at him, face open in an expression as warm as her greeting, and Lando feels his own face light up in genuine response. Something about this woman puts him immediately at ease.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(Lando doesn’t see how Charles lingers on the doorstep)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(doesn’t see how Charles stops to look at Lando like he is more special than anything on this earth)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(doesn’t see how Mrs Leclerc’s eyes glint suddenly in a knowingly amused smile)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In that instance, both Leclercs think the same thing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(I’m going to marry him one day)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(he’s going to marry him one day)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the warm Monaco sunshine, Lando steps into Charles’ childhood home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the warm Monaco sunshine, Lando takes one more step in his relationship with Charles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(and in the back of his mind -)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(he thinks the same thing)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(maybe one day -)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(maybe one day this could be theirs)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(a house, a home, a family)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(one day)</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>(he’s going to marry him one day)</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>huh it feels good to finally pull this fic to a close<br/>sorry it took a while for the epilogue to appear :)</p><p>tumblr at onehonoramongstthieves</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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